


Hands Off the Lever

by titillating_commentary



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Characters NOT based off of movie appearances, Chester is a lad, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Nick is angsty and in need of tlc, POV Male Character, Pining, Smut, TS Eliot references, Tenderness, Unrequited Love, blowjob, canon divergence: Nick actually does something on his own and someone is kind to him, handjobs, implied Myrtle/Jordan, one sided Nick/Gatsby, two bottoms trying to figure things out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25099633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titillating_commentary/pseuds/titillating_commentary
Summary: Chester was quiet for a moment, as he bent to fiddle with the camera once again.“There's something intellectual - Roman, almost, about your eyes, your profile." He continued, scrutinizing him through the camera’s viewfinder. Nick felt a flush start to spread along his neck. “You’re a swell guy, Nick.” He said slowly. “but, I was hoping to make better use of my mouth than simply complimenting you.”***Nick agrees to sit for a photograph following his encounter with Chester at Tom's last party. The experience turns out to be much better than he anticipated.- The Theif of Pears
Relationships: Nick Carraway/Mr. McKee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Hands Off the Lever

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a quick, attachment-free hookup, but over the course of writing it their dynamic developed, and it became something more intimate and focused on emotional comfort. Also, none of the character’s appearances are based on the actors who played them in the movie. The T.S Eliot qoute “The awful daring of a moment’s surrender” is taken from his poem: The Wasteland.
> 
> “Then Mr. McKee turned and continued on out the door. Taking my hat from the chandelier, I followed.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

There were many things Nick Caraway would have rather been doing early on a Saturday evening, than attending one of Tom’s parties. He looked up from the empty glass in his hand - his second that night - to the people who drifted everywhere, stumbling over the tapestried furniture, and sprawling over every inch of its ample surfaces. No familiar faces materialized in the cramped room, as he had rather hoped they would, smiling at him in recognition and giving him a place to hover in company. 

No, he did not see even Jordan now. She had vanished in a billow of pale silk- though, perhaps the blurring at the edges of his vision may have had something to do with it. (He had hoped that drinking would somehow increase his enjoyment of his present situation. It had not done so, and Nick was now acutely aware that the air in the room was being shared by a larger multitude than it could supply adequately.)

Part of him was relieved that Jordan hadn’t decided to linger at his side and strike up a conversation with him, as much as he enjoyed her daring wit. He had managed to satisfy her questions by telling her that he was meeting a man to look at portfolios. This was not an outright lie, though it helped him to disguise the mortifying truth; namely, that he had agreed to be photographed.

Just why he had agreed, he couldn’t imagine; some combination of whiskey and drowsiness, and the hopeful, timid way the question had been posed.

Not wanting to sort through the haphazard fragments of that memorable evening, as he had done many times in the days since, Nick lurched into the thick of things. He picked his way among furniture and skirts and legs, attempting to reach the restroom, where he could restore his clear-headedness through a good dash of cold water. Suppose he submerged his head entirely in the washbasin, and, with a little luck, a premature drowning would spare him his commitment?

Before he had successfully maneuvered as far as the hallway, he was prevented from continuing. He had slept poorly in anticipation of the day's events, and alcohol had smothered the buzzing of nervous energy that had kept him in a functioning state. Stumbling over an unseen footstool, he saw that the women in the gaudy pastoral tapestry beckoned to him, and allowed himself to be seduced into the empty armchair. 

Falling heavily into its abundant embrace, he finally spotted Jordan, her head thrown back a bit in the usual rakish manner as she talked, her eyes fixed on Myrtle. He vaguely wondered what the two possibly had in common, to seem so absorbed in one another’s company, pressing secrets into each other’s hands with their fleeting gazes. 

He supposed that Jordan did take an interest in celebrity gossip, actually, though mainly as an endless source of scorn and perhaps of slight superiority. His brief encounter with Myrtle had given him the impression that she gave more credence to the gauze and smoke world of tabloids than a mere abhorrent fascination.

The thought of the two of them discussing The Town Tattle gave him a fuzzy sort of amusement as he allowed his eyes to close - just to rest them, and only for a moment. 

It was a voice, bright and crackling with warmth, that brought Nick tumbling inelegantly back into the world of the living. He started forwards, fell back against the cushions, and blinked through the hazy atmosphere of the place. Myrtle’s voice continued to cut through the cacophony of conversation, as she guided Jordan to another room, talking incessantly. A scarf, that was it. Nick saw no similarity in their tastes- in fact, he had seen Jordan wear a scarf only once, but he supposed that they wished to continue their gossiping in private. And so it happened that he was left truly alone in the world. 

“I’d welcome you back to the party, Nick, but I’m afraid you haven’t missed much.” 

Turning, Nick registered the existence of a pale, blond man, reading a magazine, separated from him by a side table. He regarded the speaker silently for a moment, his mouth slightly agape.

“I haven’t?” He said dumbly. Then, catching his impoliteness; “Hello, Mr. McKee.” 

The artist seemed taken by surprise at his formality. His gaze returned magnetically to the magazine for a moment, as though it interested him more than their conversation. 

“You haven’t.” He repeated, placing it delicately on the coffee table. “Not a single row in the space of ten minutes - I have to say I’m fairly astounded.” His voice held levity, but beneath it was a faint, discernible disdain. Nick detected at once a disgust with the scene they had witnessed at the last of Tom’s parties.

“I’m sorry- you see; I’ve been drunk just three times in my life now, and the stuff tires me out.” Nick explained feebly. The model on the magazine seemed to mock him with her cattish smile. 

“Well,” Chester dismissed his concern with a gesture, “you aren’t the first to give your eyes a rest at one of these affairs. I recall that a few weeks ago I dozed off in this exact chair, and I was woken up by someone pressing their handkerchief to my face.” He punctuated his muted words with a blatant stare. “I wasn’t sure what to do, so I decided to act as though I hadn’t been disturbed at all.”

Nick coughed, suddenly feeling as though everyone in the whole godforsaken place was looking at him, as though they knew-

“How about that.” He said loudly, his eyes wandering about the room. “Strange things happen at these kinds of parties... I suppose.”

Chester nodded gravely. “You must see a whole lot of strange stuff- Tom tells me you live right next door to that Mr. Gatsby fellow who’s always hosting half of New York.” 

“Yes. He’s really quite a good host, if you can track him down and talk to him.” Nick was suddenly rather preoccupied, and did not wish to make small talk about his neighbour yet again that night. It seemed sometimes that the only thing people found interesting about him was his proximity to Gatsby. 

“I'm sure he is,” Chester turned towards him, resting his elbow on the table and brushing a few curls back from his forehead, “You see, I’ve never believed any of that overblown gossip about him.” 

Nick almost laughed in disbelief - this was a wholly new perspective on Gatsby which he had not anticipated. 

“You... you don’t? And why is that?” He couldn’t help asking. Chester looked at him as though he were watching an object pass over his head and sail away irretrievably into the distance. 

“I’ll tell you why I don’t - because I think Mr. Gatsby has started them himself.” He announced rather triumphantly, to the extent that his mild-mannered speech could convey. “Or, at the very least, encouraged them. It only makes sense, seeing as how nowadays a man’s esteem is founded on his involvement in a scandal, or sensation, at any given time.”

Nick tried not to appear too amused at this novel deduction. “That’s... quite the idea.” He said slowly, “I never considered...”

“Well,” Chester continued, appearing satisfied at the reaction his theory had produced, “When it all comes down to it, I don’t particularly care if that fellow is a Russian spy, or Kaiser Wilhelm’s nephew, or both! I don’t fault anyone who adds a bit of colour to this place.” He leaned in almost conspiratorially, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a small smile. Nick found himself unconsciously leaning closer to catch his next words.

“What I’d like to do, you know, is get into one of those parties with my camera.” He sighed and sat back with the exaggerated slump of the forlorn dreamer, “But who knows, I’m sure my chance will come one of these days.” 

Nick had half a mind to tell him that nobody was really invited, and to advise him to simply arrive. However, Chester did not strike him as the type of man who would be able to stand doing such a thing. 

“I’m sure it will,” he agreed instead, nodding vigorously a few times.

There was an uproar from a nearby huddle of women as someone in their midst downed a cocktail, waltzed up to a spectacled, plain-looking man in a business suit, and, without warning, planted a kiss on his lips. 

Chester glanced at his watch, and seemed to take this increase in noise as their cue to depart.

“While we’re on the topic of photographs, I believe you and I have an appointment.” He spoke lightly, standing up, adjusting his jacket, and heading calmly for the door. Nick followed, struck suddenly by the familiarity of the situation. 

He knew that there would be no scene in the elevator this time - they were both on the verge of sobriety. For some reason, while the recollection of the elevator ride brought on faint embarrassment, it was tinged as well with a faded, intoxicating thrill, which the brush of a hand had sent quivering down his chest to his stomach. It _had_ been a long while.

A different elevator boy was working the lever this time, and the ride up was brief, constrained, and silent. 

Finally, there came the creaking halt and the whoosh of the opening doors, followed by the slight squeak of hinges as they entered the apartment. It was familiar to Nick in a hazy way, almost identical to Tom's. However, the room had been furnished appropriately to its size, and Nick marveled briefly at the freedom of breath and movement afforded by extra floor space. 

The orange light of the setting sun streamed forth, and the room was inviting and cheerful, denying the occurrence of any shared moments of abandon. Nick quickly realized that it was also entirely empty.

“Your wife?” He couldn't help asking, watching dust motes float undisturbed in the rays of light.

“My wife has gone to the city with a few of her friends for the weekend,” Chester explained, striding to the windows. Nick watched curiously as he became a man of action, throwing open one set of curtains before turning his attentions to the camera that stood rather intimidatingly on a tripod. 

“Right over here,” he gestured to a rather austere blue armchair, which reminded Nick of the kind found in academic libraries. "The lighting is perfect..." he glanced up as Nick sat down hesitantly, his back very straight, and studied him. 

Fittingly, he saw that a bookshelf would be visible in the shot, filled with a haphazard array of volumes, meticulously organized. Chester combed through them for a moment, before decisively sliding out a pale blue, leather-bound book.

“You carry a sort of… quiet seriousness about you. I’d like to bring it out more.” He opened the book and placed it in Nick's hands, which sat idly in his lap. A volume of T.S Eliot. Finally, he turned on a small lamp and stepped back to survey the arrangement, appearing satisfied. 

“You look almost like an Oxford man, Nick,” he joked, and Nick attempted to crack a smile at his remark. Stepping back, he framed the scene with his hands and nodded, muttering under his breath.

“Try to appear natural,” he said, and Nick blinked at him, realizing he was clutching the book in his hands like a drowning man. “Just as if you were reading, and I happened to come in and bother you.” 

Nick nodded, attempting to hold the volume as though he had been attentively paging through, and anxiously awaited the click and flash that would end the whole ordeal. 

Chester bent, peering at him through the camera’s viewfinder, and Nick waited, perspiring into his crisp new shirt, for the flash to freeze him in time. Being scrutinized, reshaped in such a manner caused his palms to become clammy, and he had to refrain from tapping his feet nervously. As the seconds stretched on, he wondered if his nervousness was obvious to the man behind the lens, who had only really become acquainted with the drunk, tired Nick Caraway.

After a moment's strained silence, Chester lifted his head. 

“Nick,” he appeared to be examining him closely, “Is something the matter?”

“No.” He said, much too quickly. “I've just... never sat for a photograph, is all.” Nick adjusted his necktie, and tugged quickly at his collar, “I’m a bit nervous.” He forced a frantic chuckle and saw immediately that it had not had the desired effect.

Chester regarded him thoughtfully, faintly puzzled. There was a moment's pause, and Nick scarcely kept himself from making his discomfort and irritation known. Finally, the photographer gave his head a slow shake, accentuating the motion with a short exhale through his nose. 

“Why, what's there to be nervous about, Nick?” He said, continuing to study him intently. “Anyone would kill to photograph you, you know.”

The compliment seemed so obviously empty flattery that Nick was tempted to roll his eyes. It was almost as contrived as Daisy calling him a rose. Chester was unfazed by his gaze, which must have prickled with irritation.

“I mean it, now.” He smiled, suddenly, and it was as though he’d thrown open all the curtains without warning. “This lighting suits you perfectly, brings out all your best features. You’re really something. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?” He spoke as though some great injustice had been committed. Nick was surprised to find that he sounded genuine. 

His smile contained no magic quality of reassurance, but it seemed to transform his whole face, and it did succeed in putting Nick a little more at ease. Still, he increasingly wished for the whole process to be done with.

“Now, that's something you must have said that to every person who's ever sat for you.” Nick laughed, attempting to sound lighthearted. 

Chester was quiet for a moment, as he bent to fiddle with the camera once again. 

“There's something intellectual - Roman, almost, about your eyes, your profile." He continued, scrutinizing him through the camera’s viewfinder. Nick felt a flush start to spread along his neck. “You’re a swell guy, Nick.” He said slowly. “but, I was hoping to make better use of my mouth than simply complimenting you.”

Nick froze, his eyes widening as he stopped his nervous fidgeting with the pages, choking, searching for a reply. 

In a split second the flash went off, followed by a slight hum of approval, and the moment was preserved. 

“You were…hoping?” Nick fumbled for words, as Chester crossed the small distance between them, meeting Nick’s gaze as he came to stand in front of him.

“If you’ll let me, I’m certain I can show you how sincere I am, even without words.” He said, a small, confident smile playing upon his lips as he placed a hand gently on Nick’s shoulder. He had spoken with such unexpected heat, and as Nick looked at him his tongue glided over his bottom lip in an almost unconscious way. Nick swallowed, his pulse roaring in his ears. He had not been expecting such a blatant proposition.

“But - you...” he sputtered, unable to tear his eyes away from that inviting gaze, “you’d still like to… do that?”

“Of course,” he chuckled, “I just thought you’d never ask, Nick.” The hand on his shoulder slid inwards, until Chester’s thumb just brushed the side of his neck. Nick let out a short breath at the contact, feeling the familiar warmth of anticipation tightening inside himself. He had missed these sorts of encounters since moving to West Egg. How many times had he attempted to drown the heat of a summer night in frenzied, illicit memories? 

Sparing a brief glance for the dampened pages of the book, Nick snapped it shut, and placed it aside. As he raised his eyes to meet Chester’s warm gaze boldly, the line he’d glimpsed resounded in his head; The awful daring of a moment’s surrender!

"All... alright, Chess." He said, still in a state of mild confusion, as heat prickled the skin of his neck. The name felt much too intimate on his tongue. They looked at one another blankly, Nick hoping to convey that they were both equally surprised at what he had said. Then, to his great relief, Chester brushed the moment aside, and knelt before him in a perfectly natural manner, as though it was something he did often. Nick tried not to dwell on that too much as a hand settled on his knee, slender and warm. 

Something about Chester had always struck Nick as feminine, and he now realized what it was - he had very long eyelashes, and a tendency to look up through them furtively. 

He watched wordlessly as Chester picked up one of his hands from his lap and examined it, running his thumb lightly along the creases of his palm. He pressed his lips lightly to his wrist, glancing up at him as he raised his head. 

It was a very simple thing; the touch of his lips, but Nick felt crackling heat spread outwards from the spot to engulf his entire body.

“You really don't have any idea what kind of effect you have?” He murmured, his hands sliding up his arms to his neck, “I knew within a moment of meeting you that I wanted to photograph you.” 

Chester's fingertips brushed lightly against his throat as he gradually began unbuttoning his collar. Nick’s hand found his shoulder and rested limply there, as his shirt was slowly parted. As Chester bared his collarbone, he paused to gently trace his fingers along it, causing a pleasant shiver to travel down his spine. 

“Though, I'll admit,” he let Nick's shirt fall open carefully, as if he was uncovering a rare painting, “photography wasn't the only thing that came to mind.” Nick swallowed in anticipation as he placed his hand at the hollow of his throat, pressing lightly for a moment, before running it slowly down his now-bare chest, causing his skin to tingle..

Nick felt vulnerable, exposed, more than he was accustomed to even during encounters of this sort. However, he found that he didn’t entirely dislike it - it somehow heightened every sensation at once. 

“Really?” He managed, his breath catching at the light drag of a fingernail just above his waistline. Chester glanced up with a slight, bashful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“You know, I may be a photographer, but I always call it like I see it,” he said, quietly. Nick’s grip on his shoulder tightened as he slid his hand lower, drawing another slight shudder from his tense muscles as he brushed his lower belly. It was horribly, thrillingly intimate, and felt like too much and nowhere near enough all at once. He offered only a slightly strangled exhalation in reply as Chester slid his fingertips lower, where his excitement was slowly becoming visible. 

Nick watched him undo the buttons of his trousers with careful, practiced haste, listening to their mingled breath, the ticking of the clock urging them on. Beyond the apartment, he could make out the faint beginnings of uproarious laughter, which he knew would extend into the early morning. As he caught such passing sounds he was glad that he, too, was a part of some secret revelry, that they had managed to claim a sunset-tinged moment for only themselves. 

Nick felt colour burning on his cheeks, as Chester’s gaze meandered down to linger on his lower body, his eyes darkening as though they too contained a hint of oncoming night. His expression was difficult to read, but the pink tinge glowing on his pale skin gave some insight into his thoughts. 

His eyes lifted, and Nick held his earnest gaze, wondering who would be the first to look away and dispel the intimate silence. He started a bit as Chester slid his hand suddenly down his abdomen, trembling slightly at the sudden contact. Drawing in a loud breath, Nick wondered why his breathing had never felt like a secret, visceral means of communication before. 

“And you know, Nick,” Chester murmured, brushing his hand against him, “You’re quite gifted in other ways as well...” He winked playfully, and Nick felt his face flush almost instantly.

Nick exhaled shakily, making an effort to collect himself and focus only on Chester, looking up at him with a warm, melting expression. The freckles scattered across his face had been burnished to flecks of dull gold by the evening light, and he was certainly an eyeful in an uncommon, reserved way. 

“You... You think so?” Nick said, with as much composure as he could manage. “Well,” he continued thickly, “you’re more than welcome to touch me already, you know.” He spoke lightly, but couldn’t keep a slight impatience from seeping into his voice. 

Chester nodded, and appeared to be amused by his restlessness, the way he couldn’t seem to stay entirely still under his gaze. 

“We’re not in any sort of rush, are we?” He murmured, and pushed down the waistband of his briefs cooly, as though they were merely conducting business. Despite this, the revealing flush of sunset reds did not leave his face. 

Nick knew it didn’t matter very much that an amateur photographer seemed to think very highly of him, but he was certainly grateful for it. He had forgotten how good it felt to be wanted, and it was a welcome distraction from his feelings as of late. 

The first of Chester’s easy caresses was enough for his hips to jerk slightly, to his slight embarrassment. It was Nick’s turn to slide his hand along his shoulder and rest it against his neck, almost leaning on him for support.

“You really are something else,” Chester said quietly, a husky tenor to his voice. “Especially at the moment; enough to drive a person mad.” His fingers tightened around him deftly, his palm smooth and warm, and Nick felt a shudder he could not suppress quiver through his body. 

The sudden, wonderful press of Chester’s warm mouth against his stomach caused Nick to inhale sharply. It felt as though the slight, precise drag of his teeth against his skin was an attempt to strike up a spark that would consume him. Chester paused, his breath warm and agonizingly light as it fanned against him.

“Don’t you forget that, Nick.” He said, rubbing his thumb over the spot his lips had touched. Nick gasped, trembling under the slight caress. He was almost dizzied by the fluttering leap of his heart at those words, the throbbing heat racing through his abdomen- unbalancing and demanding.

A faint protest formed in his mind - that he was perfectly okay with not being anything special, accompanied by a laugh for good measure. But his attempt to speak was cut short by the incoherent noise - halfway between a groan and a loud exhale - which escaped him at once like the ghost of a complete sentence.

Nick made no further efforts to voice his feelings, choosing to concentrate on keeping the sounds that escaped him to a minimum as Chester's lips brushed the sensitive skin further down. Nick slid his hands into his soft, curly hair - an almost familiar shade of blond, he realized.

Nick attempted to dismiss the thought as quickly as it appeared. He kept one hand on Chester's head, watching idly as he lowered himself, and his eyes with their pale golden fringes fell shut. Nick knew, as the first languid slide of his tongue brought a needy sigh rushing from his mouth, that it would not be difficult at all to dwell on such thoughts and to follow them to their inevitable conclusion.

Instead, he put the slight pang out of his mind, and combed one of his hands through the strands, skating his fingertips down the back of Chester's neck to steady himself, observing him in an almost detached manner. 

He wasn't used to being able to watch - these sorts of things tended to happen in the dark; rushed and messy affairs, often with little time to really think about things. He enjoyed this new kind of intimacy more than he would have anticipated; seeing how red the back of Chester's neck was, the obscene bulge of his cheek.

"God, Chess..." Nick choked, wincing a little at the urgency in his own voice. He drew in a shaky breath as Chester drew him deeply into his marvelously warm mouth, effortlessly, it seemed. Nick grasped tightly at his hair, one of his hands occasionally smoothing down his neck, almost petting. Chester certainly knew what he was doing, and Nick wondered dimly how many wild and unknown men he had satisfied in this way. Had they been gentle?

Nick did not voice any of these thoughts, and had little time to dwell on them anyways, as they quickly became incoherent and messy under the hot wetness, the steady glide of his tongue. Closing his eyes, he attempted to stifle the low sounds which rose in the back of his throat - the man had neighbours, after all. 

Chester drew back leisurely, until the heat of his mouth had almost entirely slid from him, and flattened his hand against his hip as he brushed his tongue against him- underneath, in a way that made Nick dig his fingers haplessly into his shoulder. He let his head fall forward, knowing that even if he’d possessed all the self-restraint in the world he would still have succumbed to the slight twitching of his thighs, and the shudders which crawled continually down his back. The heat which washed gently over him - the heat of Chester’s red mouth, of the orange light leaking onto him through the window, it was enough to force a low sigh from his mouth. 

Chester continued his steady motions, the soft drag of his palate against Nick’s flesh causing a murmur of uncharacteristically coarse words to escape him, a sign that he would not last much longer. He let out a loud breath, clasping Chester’s head with both hands now, resisting the urge to thrust him closer. His fingers ran through his hair, scraped along his neck for purchase, leaving faint marks with his nails. 

The warm, steady hand anchoring him to the present moment slid back to his hip, stroking lightly as his stomach tightened, and he almost felt like doubling over. Attempting to swallow a quiet groan, Nick dragged one of his hands down to the flush skin at his jaw, cupping it as he finished, almost apologetically, as he jolted against his mouth. Words he did not mean hovered at his lips, but, thinking better of it, he managed not to utter them. 

Afterwards, as the sensation faded like the burst of a flashbulb, Nick parted from him, slackening in utter relief as he watched Chester swallow in a casual, unfazed manner. Their gazes remained fixed on one another, and for only a moment, it felt to Nick rather like a glance shared in passing with a stranger. His eyes were almost the same shade of blue as the pair that he often found in his dreams, yet Chester’s gaze was somehow startlingly different- there was no grandeur in it, no shining, impossible hope, but something that Nick found quite inviting nonetheless. 

“Sorry about that...” Nick stammered, wondering just what he was really apologizing for. “I... I suppose I should have said something.” 

Chester merely nodded, giving his shoulders a slight shrug. "It's alright, Nick, It makes no difference to me."

Nick nodded, searching for words to fill the space between them, which suddenly felt much larger than the small room could contain. He felt at ease, warm, his thoughts placid in a way he hadn't been able to bring about with his own hand - at least, not lately. He did not admit these things to the man who sat expectantly on his heels and studied him. 

"You're... awfully good at this kind of thing." Nick fumbled, shaking off the lingering sluggishness from his mind. Chester simply nodded, looking rather pleased, and Nick attempted to gaze steadily at him. "Well," he continued, placing a hand on his shoulder, "how would you like me to... to pay you for the photograph?" As he spoke, he let his hand fall away from the heat of his neck and smoothed it over his shirt, sliding it beneath his taut suspender and giving it a small, admittedly satisfying tug before pushing it aside. 

Chester looked for a moment as though he were trying to stifle a huff of laughter. "It's a bit late to turn on the charm, Nick - you've already got me kneeling in front of you, you know." 

Nick nodded, flushing slightly at his brash comment, and realized that they had been steadily leaning closer to one another while speaking. Lacking a response to his statement, and with a sudden rush of confidence, Nick leaned forwards, catching Chester’s mouth with his own. 

His wet lips tasted of salt, and Nick found it intoxicating. Chester was pliant, his hands clenched into fists and tugging hard on Nick’s collar as he opened his warm mouth willingly. Nick grabbed his jaw as their tongues slid together, and they pulled one another closer still. Realizing through the champagne-like haze that he was nearly falling out of the chair, he made a clumsy attempt to rise out of it. Before Nick knew what had happened he was atop him on the floor, their teeth knocking messily, his eyes falling shut again as their kiss became frantic. He shoved down on his shoulders, pinning him firmly against the floor. 

“Nick,” he panted, the sound half swallowed by the meeting of their lips as one of his hands slid along the back of his neck.

Nick froze, feeling as though he’d been startled from a daydream. It was not the voice that made his heart pound and caused his mouth to go dry, that always punctuated itself with meaningless sunny addresses, and which had rarely ever spoken his name- certainly not in such a manner as he now heard it. 

He winced at the thought, realizing that, for a brief moment, he had allowed himself to pretend. Huffing in frustration, he combed his fingers through Chester’s hair, and, delving his hands into the soft strands, gripped it tightly, as though he could force them to forget who it was that he truly wished to touch. Feeling Chester’s gasp against his lips, he felt all at once a strange satisfaction and a sense of guilt.

Nick broke from him breathlessly and surveyed his face, relieved to find no evidence that his rather regrettable thoughts had been apparent to him. Chester did appear somewhat surprised, his chest heaving as he regarded him with wide eyes and a flushed countenance. 

“Well,” he panted, a hint of a smile gracing his words, “I guess having me on my knees wasn’t good enough for you, then,” he continued, with a slightly forced levity. 

Nick smiled, attempting to bar his previous thoughts from his mind, if only for the moment. He did have a certain fondness for Chester; his honest way of speaking, and his relaxed, sunny mannerisms. He had certainly been willing to make Nick the subject of his undivided attention, and he wished to return the kindness, at the very least. 

“I’d much rather have you like this.” Nick said earnestly, pressing his lips to the corner of his jaw. “Just... tell me what you want,” he murmured, nudging the shell of his ear with his nose.

Unexpectedly, Chester barked out a dry laugh. Nick raised his head to look at him, annoyed with the apparent amusement his words had produced. 

Chester stroked his thumb along his neck to the corner of his jaw. “Are you asking me for instructions?” He said, flashing him a grin which immediately melted his irritation. 

“Well- I...” Nick felt a deep blush settle on his face as he averted his eyes shyly, “I am, yes. What of it?” He stammered, wondering if his attempt to be accommodating had only made him appear inexperienced. 

Chester continued to smile, as though he had said something perfectly charming. “Most guys don’t ask for them, Nick, that’s all.” His eyes glinted coyly in the dim light as he continued, “And, to be perfectly honest, I’d prefer it if you were the one giving directions.” 

“Oh...” Nick swallowed nervously, attempting to return a steady gaze. He could not remember the last time he’d taken charge of any situation, much less one of this nature. He hoped that perhaps, with the room now awash in violet dusk, it would be difficult for Chester to make out the apprehension on his face.

“Alright...” Nick thought for a moment, “what kind of directions do you want, anyway?” He muttered, beginning to fumble with the buttons at his throat.

Chester raised an eyebrow at him, cupping his cheek affectionately. “You’re doing it again, you know,” he laughed, tugging him gently closer. Nick felt a slight jabbing pain at the way Chester looked at him, as though he found his graceless floundering the most delighting and endearing quality in the world. 

Nick levelled his gaze at him, self-consciousness prickling hot beneath his skin. “Kiss me.” He told him suddenly. His voice rang with a strange, harsh edge of desperation and chagrin that almost made him grimace. “Stop talking, and kiss me.” He repeated, softening his words. 

Luckily, Chester seemed happy to oblige his request, parting his lips readily as Nick attempted to shove all thoughts of anyone else from his mind. He wanted greatly to focus on nothing but the kind-hearted man in front of him, who seemed to take everything he said or did in stride without faulting him for any of it. Chester, for his part, seemed intent on forcibly stopping him from thinking of anything at all, catching his bottom lip with his teeth in a way that Nick found dangerously inebriating. 

He parted from Chester, sucking in a breath as he pressed his lips to the corner of his jaw, and fumbled as he attempted to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind his ear, doing so with great care.

The flushed expanse of Chester’s throat was soft beneath his lips as he dipped his head to explore it further, engrossed in the responsive sighs and heavy breaths he was able to tug free with his open-mouthed caresses. Nick felt a sense of satisfaction at being the one to break Chester’s usual composure, at the shaky gasp he drew by pressing his leg down into him, at the hardness he found there.

His hands began to wander downward, making swift, though clumsy work of the remaining buttons of his shirt. Nick slid his palms along his bare skin eagerly, Chester’s hands coming to tangle in his hair. Nick enjoyed the warm pressure of Chester’s hand; it was a reassuring weight, which steadied his nerves, occasionally stroking up and down. 

Nick’s hands reached his shoulders, and he planted his hands on them, dragging his lips to Chester’s collarbone. Chester sucked in air through his teeth, and Nick felt his hand tighten in his hair as he slid his tongue upwards over his throat, taking great care not to carelessly bring about the end of his marriage with a mark of passion.

The rhythm of Chester’s breathing quickly became unsteady and ragged, a shiver passing through him as Nick ground his thigh against the firm proof of his arousal.

“No need to be so gentle, Nick.” Chester gasped, his nails running through his hair, against his scalp as he tightened his arms around his neck. 

Nick paused, took in a gulp of air, and met his eyes in a state of confusion. 

“I just...” he was reluctant to bring up the topic, but forced it into the room nonetheless, “Mrs- your wife will notice if I- if there are any...” Chester nodded, and Nick became quiet, concerned that his words would somehow dampen the warmth and openness that glowed from his expression. 

But, as Nick looked at him hesitantly, an easy, playful smile developed thoughtfully on his face. “I suppose you’re right,” he sighed slowly, “though, I didn’t expect that to be the first thing on your mind.” Chester said, almost ruefully.

Nick felt his rapid, shallow breaths against his cheek, and the brief ensuing silence between them was warm and peaceful to rest in, rather than tense. 

“You’re a bachelor, aren’t you, Nick?” He said suddenly, contemplatively. He spoke quickly and softly, as though he were asking him to divulge a great secret. 

“Yes,” Nick admitted, “but why...” he stopped talking as Chester tugged him down insistently, closing his eyes and leaning upwards to press his warm lips to his throat. Nick’s hand sought his hair instinctively as he placed a lingering kiss on the fragile skin. His mouth traveled lower, and Nick jumped as he bit him playfully, the rather hard nip of his teeth certain to leave a mark. Chester followed this rather harsh action with a gentle press of his lips, continuing to work at the spot. 

“Oh.” Nick gasped, realizing the significance of the question as Chester moved gradually down his throat, and began to suck another sensitive mark into his skin. He imagined vivid blotches blooming in the wake of his lips, souvenirs to remember the evening's events. 

“Oh.” Nick repeated softly, the air choked from him with every hard bite and soft caress of his tongue, “oh, God - You... You really shouldn’t, Chess- I... there will be...” Nick realized that he was clasping him closer, contradicting his words. “There will be bruises...” 

“I like them,” Chester murmured very close to his skin, “they look good on you, Nick. Though, of course, if you’d like me to stop...”

“No.” Nick said quickly, his voice rasping strangely. “Don’t.” Chester smiled, and, pushing lightly at his shoulder, persuaded him to roll onto his side. Nick had become limp and compliant at the first touch of his lips, and wordlessly complied.

The new position allowed Chester better access to his neck, as Nick brushed his hands tentatively down to the waist of his pants. Chester's hips gave a small, uncontrollable jerk forward as he fumbled to undo the buttons quickly, grazing the hardness which strained beneath. 

Nick was now having little trouble focusing only on Chester - the pleasant sensations created by his mouth made it very difficult to focus on anything at all. When Nick took him into his hand, and he made a low, muffled sound against his flesh, he felt as though the vibrations travelled straight through him. It was like a new sort of music he had never heard, thrumming low and sweet at the touch of his unskilled hand for no one but themselves.

Nick tightened his hand around him, slowly beginning to move his palm along his skin. He felt himself becoming lost to everything but the heat of his mouth and his body pressed against him. It was something he would miss when he found himself alone in his own bed. 

Nick struggled somewhat to find a steady rhythm with his hand, as his slick fingers slid over him messily, nearly letting go of him before stroking down with renewed focus. Chester groaned softly with his mouth still pressed against his neck, and it made Nick glad to hear it. 

“Harder, Nick.” He murmured, his grip on his back tightening. Nick did his best to be more firm, to move with a steady self-assurance. He knew perfectly well that he was a bit lacking in the particular qualities Chester seemed to prefer, but he wanted badly to make him happy in whatever way he could. 

He hesitated, before placing his hands on his shoulders and pushing him quickly onto his back, returning rather clumsily, albeit more forcefully to their previous position. Continuing the motions of his hand, he watched Chester blink in surprise at the decisive action. 

Nick pressed his hand tentatively to his chest, and, clearing his throat, attempted to keep his voice even. “I want this to be about you, now.” He said, managing even a hint of firmness in his words. Chester grinned at him, and reaching up, he tugged him a bit closer by his collar. 

“You can do whatever you'd like to me, Nick,” he said, the words rushed and breathy and somehow affectionate. “So long as you do it faster.”

Nick needed no further encouragement to begin stroking him again, his free hand roaming his stomach, his chest and sides- warm, rising and falling with heaving breaths, as though he was trying to learn the shape of him. 

Chester’s smile contained the same sparkling warmth and hunger as when he’d leaned closer to him in the elevator. It had made Nick want to kiss him, as it did now- his lips swollen and his hands firm around his shoulders- and as there wasn't anything stopping him this time, he hesitated for only a moment before leaning in to meet his lips.

Chester seemed a bit surprised, but it took less than a moment for his eyes to flutter shut as he returned the embrace. A warm, heady desire had begun to race through him with each stutter of Chester’s hips, the small, responsive sounds he made at the gentle exploration of his tongue, and the way he ran his fingers through Nick’s hair to the nape of his neck, his nails running lightly against his scalp. They broke apart briefly, and Nick felt him pant rapidly for breath against his neck. Chester’s hands clutched harder at his neck and shoulder as he tightened his grip around him.

He tensed against Nick for a long moment, jerking against him with a quiet, shuddering intake of breath, and hugging his arms tightly around his neck as he swore quietly, spilling into his hand. 

Chester let out a short, heavy sigh, as he relaxed underneath him and Nick felt his body being set afire all over again. He managed to get off of him with only slight clumsiness, rolling onto his back as he felt the burn of faint embarrassment on his cheeks, at the state he found himself in. He wasn’t sure if Chester could discern it, however- the faint yellow glow of the reading lamp struggled feebly to illuminate the room, and caused long, solemn shadows to drip across their faces. 

Nick listened to his soft, evening breaths, lying with his head on the carpet, a strange, melancholy sort of contentment seeping into the silence between them. It was a bit like the leaden tranquility found at the bottom of a bottle- warm, weighty contentment slowing the racing of his thoughts, the silence easy because it expected nothing from him. And yet, Nick felt somehow as though he had committed a great falsehood. 

For lying next to him, with his hands folded complacently on top of one another, was someone he didn’t love. This, of course, was a situation he’d thought little of before, resting atop bed sheets on sticky summer evenings back home- but now very suddenly his thoughts spiraled towards a dreadful self-realization. 

Nick was struck by how he must have appeared at the moment; lying next to a married man with his shirt unbuttoned, who he had kissed as though he was a lovesick college freshman again. He recalled the recent image of Tom Buchanan- emerging from a room with Myrtle, wearing his top shirt buttons undone and a sickeningly smug grin. His stomach lurched as he unconsciously placed his hand at the side of his neck, rubbing his fingertips over the faint scattered marks as though he could erase them. 

Minutes passed, ticked by lazily on the clock and agitatedly in the throbbing of his heart, and the dark, warm room felt suddenly suffocating, like the mouth of a great creature about to swallow him. 

The feeling quickly became intolerable, and Nick almost jolted upright, sucking in a shaky breath as though he had broken the surface of water, and received a questioning look at the abrupt movement as he reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table.

“It’s getting late.” He explained, nearly choking on the words as he fumbled hastily to button up his shirt, his unsteady hands likely betraying the state of his nerves. “And... I really should be going…”

Sighing, Chester sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair- though it appeared to be incorrigibly flattened at the back, and glanced at Nick skeptically as he got unsteadily to his feet. He found his tie draped carelessly over the arm of the chair, a testament to the hurriedness with which all formality between them had been stripped away in the transient glow of dusk.

“Well,” Chester chuckled, as he stood gracefully- albeit in a resigned manner, “you can’t be going anywhere like _that_ , Nick.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, and glancing down, Nick realized with dismay that he had buttoned up his shirt haphazardly.

“Oh…” Nick breathed, meeting his gaze apologetically, “I… suppose you’re right.” He felt himself quickly growing hot with embarrassment, and he was surprised to find that Chester’s smile was free of derision, and seemed to hold even affection. 

“Here.” Chester murmured, as he slid his hand to his throat before he could protest, and began unfastening the buttons, his curtained eyes appearing darker than usual in the dim light as he gazed down in concentration. 

Nick made no reply, suddenly painfully aware of each inhale, each time his chest expanded and Chester’s fingers brushed gently against him as he bared it inch by inch. He was close enough for his breath to ghost over Nick’s skin, and he found that somehow the intimacy was immensely calming- what a staggering relief it was to give in, even for a moment, and allow someone else to see to the task at hand. 

As Chester did up the last few buttons, and paused to smooth Nick’s rumpled collar, it occurred to him that his silence may have been taken as impolite. 

“Thanks,” he began abruptly, aware of the faint flush which lingered on his cheeks, “- for everything.” Nick spoke quickly, desperate to get the words out before the strange sense of understanding between them wavered, and they returned inevitably to the pressing world outside- polite and discreet and very much alone.

Chester paused, glancing up to catch his gaze and holding it as though daring Nick to look away first. “My pleasure, Nick.” He said, his knuckles grazing Nick’s skin as he placed his tie around his neck, and began knotting it neatly.

“And you know, I’ve got the place to myself tonight,” Chester continued, as his lips quirked into an inviting smile, “you’re welcome to stay.”

Nick felt a timid flush rise to his cheeks at the offer- one he had never received before. He thought tiredly of the rather lengthy trip home, and the dark, empty house which awaited him.  
Chester smoothed down his tie with a sense of finality, his smile glowing with that peculiar, comfortable quality it always seemed to hold- a promise of acceptance, if not understanding.

“You know,” Nick began, a fleeting, genuine smile crossing his own face, despite the guilt which sat heavily in the pit of his stomach, “I… I think I will.”

Chester nodded, “It’s settled, then.” He looked up at him playfully, raising his eyebrows, “I suppose I’d better go wash up. Why don’t you join me- if you’d like?” He slid his hand down his arm, lightly brushing his inner wrist with his fingertips as he parted from him.

Nick could only swallow as he nodded, and followed him.

Standing in the small, plain bathroom, he hesitantly allowed Chester to aid in undoing the work of a moment before, and abandoned his best dress shirt in a heap on the tiled floor- each of them long past the point of modesty. Stepping into the hot shower, the water streamed over him like a thousand warm caresses, doing nothing to ease the tension wound tightly in his muscles. When Chester glanced down pointedly, rested his hand on his stomach, and asked if he wanted to be touched again, he merely gave a sheepish nod. 

Afterwards, when his hands had wrung every last shudder from his body, they fell away, leaving him slumped against the wall in a state of pleasant exhaustion. Nick watched the running water erase any evidence of what had occurred, and was almost able to forget his worries entirely for a moment.

The unexpectedly pleasant lightness lingered as he dressed for bed, the soft rustling of fabric the only sound in the room. However, by the time he finished and found himself standing barefoot in borrowed pajamas- a rather undignified state, one that he had not experienced since childhood- he had begun to feel rather out of place. He was familiar with the room, with the placement of the light-switch he hadn’t bothered to flick on previously, with how soft the mattress had been, colliding with the backs of his knees- but he had the distinct sense that he didn’t belong in it as anything more than a fleeting visitor. 

As Chester got into bed, Nick realized that he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about the situation at all. 

“Don’t be shy, Nick,” he chuckled, flicking the covers open, “it’s rather late for that.” Retrieving a package of cigarettes from the nightstand, he glanced at Nick questioningly. “Do you smoke?”

“Of course I do.” Nick muttered, settling onto the other side of the bed, and looked abstractedly around himself. His attention was briefly drawn to the small, framed picture on the nightstand, unmistakably a woman- a bride, wearing a smile so wide that it seemed somehow perpetually on the verge of wavering.

“A wedding picture?” Nick commented, quite conscious of the fact that he was sitting in their marital bed. Chester made no reply, placing a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it, and inhaling deeply. A moment later he nodded, letting out a smoky sigh before plucking it from his lips, and offering it to Nick. 

“Say,” Nick accepted it, and regarded its soft glow for a moment, as though trying to discern its purpose, “have you really taken - what was it... over a hundred photographs of her?” 

Chester gave a humourless chuckle, nodding wearily. “I’ve got a whole portfolio of them. She really is a grand model...” he looked at Nick suddenly. “Haven’t you heard about how we met? She's quite fond of telling people that story- they always seem to get a real kick out of it.” He rolled his eyes. Nick shook his head quickly, attempting not to appear overly curious.

“It’s a funny thing, really.” Chester began, as they continued to pass the cigarette between them, “I was first drawn to her when I saw her standing in front of a window, her head turned like this;” and he set his hand at Nick’s chin as clinically as though he was the subject of a photograph, his hand startlingly soft as he gently turned his head to a three-quarter angle. “It was the last, muddiest phase of winter, and we had been stranded at a coffee shop by a sudden shower of rain. The way her features contrasted the grey glass and the grey sky beyond it, and the blurred effect of the raindrops sliding down - it was a photographer's dream, so of course - I was still an amateur then,” he added quickly, perhaps, Nick thought, in case he was fostering too high an opinion of him, “I asked her if I might take a photograph of her, and well, she was very flattered, and we wound up discussing places I might like to have her model for me.

“The rest is history.” Chester added, the faintest shadow of a smile flickering across his face in the dim light. It quickly dissolved, and he glanced about the room as though it was suddenly a strange and unfamiliar place. 

His gaze returned to Nick’s face, and he stared at him pensively, as though carefully considering his next words. Nick attempted to refrain from any nervous fidgeting under the steady scrutiny. 

“One hundred and twenty-seven times.” The words fell heavily from Chester’s mouth. “For a while, I kept hoping that, if I could capture what I saw that day... well, I hope you won't think me heartless, but I came to the discovery soon after we were married that I didn't love her.”

They were both silent for a moment at this information, allowing it to hover in the dim, smoky air, before Chester dismissed it with a wave of his hand, snuffing the cigarette out in the ashtray, along with the choking, acrid truth of his confession. Nick wondered, as their hands brushed incidentally beneath the comforter, if he often made a habit of sharing such information with his acquaintances. 

Chester leaned over the lamp beside the bed, and with a sudden pop the light went out, and anything Nick might have said in response was swallowed by the darkness. 

“’Night,” Nick mumbled, turning away from him onto his side. A faint, sickeningly sweet aroma arose from the pillow the moment his head came to rest on it, conjuring up images of dress shops, flowers, and other such despair-tinged objects of the feminine realm.

Not a moment after this thought was dimly conceived, an arm was settled gently over his waist, and he felt Chester’s breath ghost over the back of his neck as he nuzzled against it. Nick froze, nearly recoiling out of astonishment at the sudden closeness, his chest pressed snugly against his back. It was exceedingly warm, and... and comfortable, if wholly unprecedented. No one he’d been with had ever attempted such a thing before, yet he felt suddenly as though it was something he had been missing for a long while.

Heaving a gentle sigh, Nick allowed himself to yield to the embrace, making a conscious effort to soften his shoulders, to rest naturally against Chester’s form, somewhat amazed at the ease with which their bodies fit together. 

“Night, Nick.” Chester murmured against his neck, and Nick realized that, absurdly, he was almost smiling. No, he thought drowsily, this man was not the one who stirred his soul at the violet hour, but he was grateful nonetheless, and felt better about things than he had in weeks. It was, he thought, as though he had stood in a valley of dust, and someone had beckoned him to rest, however momentarily, in a shaded spot.


End file.
